


A Most Unusual Courtship: A Most Unusual Sacrifice

by elistaire



Series: A Most Unusual Courtship [4]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Azazel's tail is made of awesome, Hurt, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At long last, all things align, and it becomes inevitable that Erik finds out about Azazel and Charles.  This is the path of how it comes about, and of the tragic, heartrending sacrifice that is made, once the truth is known. </p><p> </p><p>  <i><br/>Emma said, with a sidelong glance at Azazel, “Until this cold I caught is gone, an assignment of this magnitude and nature requires additional personnel.”  </i></p><p>
  <i>Azazel kept his face impassive, even as he wondered at the look Emma had given him.  She had machinations within plans within schemes.   “What solution has been proposed?” he asked. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>There was a long, drawn out silence as Emma and Magneto stared at each other.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Finally, Magneto spoke. “I need you to bring me to the Xavier mansion.  We require Charles’ assistance in the matter."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Azazel spent a moment to regret not having taken Charles to more operas.  Then, he teleported them to the outside door of the Xavier Mansion. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Most Unusual Courtship: A Most Unusual Sacrifice

They had just returned from the ballet in Moscow, going from a damp, cold night to a bright, crisp sunlit afternoon. 

“That was magnificent,” Charles said, fingers still curling around Azazel’s own, and he meant both the ballet and his company for the evening. 

Azazel accepted the compliment with a tightening of his eyes as he looked Charles over. He moved closer, looming over Charles like an intense thundercloud threatening hard rain, and then, surprised him by kneeling on either side of his legs in the wheelchair. Now his presence was entirely different--like an overlaid quilt, heavy and thorough, and Charles felt entirely covered by it, as if snuggled down for the night, safe from the cold air. 

Azazel hovered his weight just above him, with the incredible poise and balance that Charles associated with him—as if he were one of the _danseurs_ they had enjoyed seeing perform earlier, and indeed, Charles thought that Azazel had been born with such grace and elegance as most people trained their whole lives to exude. His tail came around to wrap possessively around one of Charles’ wrists, in a move so familiar now that Charles welcomed the sensation of being connected, of being somewhat _joined_. It felt perfect there, as it always did. 

“You are what is magnificent,” Azazel said, softly, rumbling into Charles’ ear, his warmth breath ghosting along his neck. He pressed in, to the spot just behind his ear, where women dabbed perfume in the hopes of driving their lovers insane with desire, and Charles closed his eyes and made a noise that he knew sounded incredibly needy. It quickened Azazel’s breath against his neck. 

Charles brought his hands up and slid them under Azazel’s clothes, finding his skin to be warm and dry, with hard-won muscles beneath. He grasped at Azazel’s waist and the blades of his hands settled on the bluntly muscled top-ends of his hip-bones, and held on as Azazel pressed in closer. Azazel’s hands came up to slide the length of Charles' neck, his thumbs falling into the contours along his neck where the muscles and tendons made valleys. 

“Azazel,” Charles said, just liking the sound of the name said out loud. His whole body was thrumming with the pleasure of the moment. 

“Charles,” Azazel said back, humor laced through with amusement, and beating at Charles’ mind was the steady thumping undertone of arousal and desire. “What you are,” Azazel said, “is everything I never knew I had wanted.” His hands slid lower, off his neck, to rub against his collarbone and then spread wide, out to his shoulders. Azazel’s hands were broad and strong, and he gripped at Charles as if he were mapping his bones with the tips of his fingers. 

“You really liked the ballet,” Charles said, knowing he was infuriating, and that Azazel would be most amused. 

“I loved it,” Azazel said, laughing, biting lightly at the base of Charles’ neck, and there was a wicked sense of movement and not-movement, like being expertly dipped while dancing, and Charles found himself in his own bed, sans wheelchair. One of the benefits of dating a teleporter meant that there need not be any awkward in-between moments of moving from one location to another. Charles loved not having to pause, to relocate. The heat of the moment need never dissipate, but only accelerate, and Charles was ever fascinated with the swift sensation of being in one place and then another, and Azazel’s gentle control over the teleport. Someday, he would convince Azazel to take him skydiving again…. 

Charles quickly found the buttons and snaps of Azazel’s clothes, his fingers hurrying to unhitch them all. As he worked the shirt began to reveal Azazel’s beautiful crimson skin, and Charles was once again intoxicated with how perfectly amazing mutations were. Such a wonderful shade of red, and Azazel’s tail was the same perfectly red shade, and that reminded Charles that Azazel _still_ had that gloriously dexterous tail wrapped around his wrist. It all went to his head, making him dizzy, making him feel flirty and naughty. 

“You liked the pretty ballerinas?” he asked, teasingly.

Azazel shook his head, not rising up to respond to Charles’ blatant innuendo. Instead, his expression grew soft, with a smile exceedingly small and mild. “I could hardly watch them dance,” he admitted, “my eyes were on you.”

“My attention wasn’t exactly devoted to the ballet, either,” Charles whispered, very much liking the fact that he could captivate the attention of someone as well-experienced and traveled as Azazel. It was flattering, and euphoric, and a spiraling kind of truth that just became more wonderful the more time he spent with the complicated man. 

Azazel kissed him, then, and Charles kissed back, falling under the spell of need and want. By now, it had become familiar to kiss Azazel, his teeth smooth and sharp beneath Charles’ tongue, and yet, the more he had, the more he wanted. He pressed up, devouring, breathing, not breathing, and Azazel kissed back, bleeding out pleasure and joy, and unrestrained yearning. 

Charles found that Azazel was actually _humming_ into him as they kissed—a sensuous melody, beating in waltz-time. Something about it sent a fission of heat coursing along Charles’ skin, flushing him all over, and Azazel smiled against his mouth, languorous, still humming in the deep-thrumming style that was the timbre of his voice. Charles curled the fingers of one hand against the back of Azazel’s neck, and began to ask, _What waltz--_

The knife-edged mental diamond-whistle broke them apart. 

Azazel arched back, clearly angry and frustrated. He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, nearly growling, his eyes boring at Charles with unrepressed desire. “I will return as soon as I am able,” he said. 

Charles had just enough time to realize that the comforting, solid presence of Azazel’s tail had released from his wrist, and then Azazel disappeared into a thundercloud of red and black smoke. 

Charles laid back, eyes closed, and wondered if he had the energy to take a cold shower. 

~~~ 

“I don’t know,” Emma Frost said. Her expression was even colder than her voice, and Azazel was instantly on guard. He was used to coming into the middle of conversations and he knew precisely when to become concerned based on very little discourse. 

“You must find _out_!” Magneto insisted, looming over her, face dark and intense. 

“Not me,” she said, and gave the smallest, most delicate sneeze that had ever existed. She touched a fingertip to her temple and closed her eyes for a moment. “My abilities are compromised for the moment and I believe I’ve made my recommendation quite clear.”

Magneto bared his teeth, clearly unhappy about whatever the recommendation had been. 

Azazel tried his best to meld into the background. He had no desire to engage in the ongoing argument, no matter what the topic. He also tried to subdue the frustration that burned through him. They had called him at a _most_ inconvenient time. All he wanted to do was return to Charles, his bed, and their nascent lovemaking. 

He still had the memory of the feel of Charles’ skin against his fingertips, and his tail longed to loop _just so_ , a width and breadth perfectly suited to capturing Charles' wrist. Instead, Azazel took a deep breath and clasped his hands behind his back, hiding them, and tried to appear calm, even if he did not feel it. 

Emma turned her attention on Azazel with a quirk to her mouth. “With your lovers again?” she asked, ignoring Magneto who practically seethed at her. 

Azazel realized that all his shirt buttons, but one, had been loosened. “Of course,” he said smoothly, and threw a perfunctory leering grin at her since it would be expected. He appreciated her misdirection. He slowly began to redo the buttons. 

Magneto glanced to Azazel. “Thank you for coming,” he said. Azazel gave him a sharp nod. 

“You are aware of our latest undertaking,” Emma said. 

“The black boxes?” Azazel asked. This had been a nagging issue for weeks now, setting everyone’s nerves on edge. Magneto particularly took these threats seriously, one of the reasons why Azazel stayed with him. The man was smart, powerful, and highly focused. His vision for a future where mutants dominated suited Azazel just fine. Perhaps then he would not have to arrange for dark curtains when he took Charles to the ballet. 

“The black boxes,” Magneto confirmed. “Ms. Frost assures me that they are very real, and yet, we have been unable to discern their true purpose.”

“You need more firepower than I’ve got by myself, honey,” Emma said, with a sidelong glance at Azazel. “Not that I relish admitting it, but it is the truth. Until this cold I caught is gone, an assignment of this magnitude and nature requires additional personnel.” 

Azazel kept his face impassive, even as he wondered at the look Emma had given him. She had machinations within plans within schemes. “What solution has been proposed?” he asked. 

There was a long, drawn out silence as Emma and Magneto stared at each other. Azazel respected the fact that Emma knew the limits of her abilities, particularly if she was sidelined with an illness, and was frank and forthcoming about them, rather than forging ahead and putting the rest of the team at risk due to her omission. He regarded this as one of Emma’s characteristic virtues. 

Finally, Magneto spoke. “I need you to bring me to the Xavier mansion. We require Charles’ assistance in the matter.”

“Of course,” Azazel said automatically, but fear spiked in his chest. “Now?” he asked. 

“Putting it off will not make it easier, so yes, now,” Magneto said. 

Azazel dipped his head, acquiescing to the request as well as to the inherent consequences that would come from doing so, and held out his hand for Magneto to take. Having not yet broached the subject of his courtship with Magneto, Azazel wondered where the next few minutes would lead him. A chill ran over his skin. He suspected that perhaps he might be fighting Magneto to the death. 

He didn’t expect that he would lose, but he spent a moment to regret not having taken Charles to more operas. 

Then, he teleported them to the outside door of the Xavier Mansion. 

Magneto looked at the door and then turned to frown at him. 

“We are seeking assistance, correct?” Azazel asked. “Not demanding it?”

“For now,” Magneto said, though Azazel noted a distinct tremor to Magneto’s hand as he rapped upon the door. It had been a very long time since Charles and Magneto had last seen the other, and Azazel held no false thoughts that Charles did not still harbor a well-tended flame for this lost love of his. It appeared that Magneto did the same. 

Azazel took a deep breath, and prepared for whatever might happen next. 

~~~ 

Charles felt Azazel return to the grounds, and frowned. He was outside. Which he routinely did when he first arrived, out of some noble sense of honor and propriety, but not when he was expected back shortly. Why had he not just returned-- Ah. The cold, empty space beside him yielded the answer to the mystery. Erik had come with him. 

Charles’ heart pounded in his chest. He slowly wheeled himself to the front door, his thoughts racing. Erik. Here. It didn’t bode well. 

He was grateful, though, for the small bit of luck that Sean, Alex, and Hank were not at the mansion that afternoon. Very possibly a brawl might have broken out on his front doorstep. They already didn’t appreciate Azazel’s presence, but they tolerated it. Erik had given them even more reason for dislike, because he had once been one of them and then turned away. Betrayal tasted sharply more bitter than enemies at first blush. 

Finally Charles reached the door. He took a deep, steadying breath before opening it. 

He couldn’t quite help the smile that came to his lips when he saw Azazel standing one step behind Erik. His eyes were hooded, but the overlay of emotions was easy to decipher. Azazel was very concerned about this meeting. 

Azazel caught his smile and returned it, and then Charles realized that Erik thought he was the recipient of the smile, and he smiled even more broadly. He had affection enough for both of them, though he was a bit twisted around all on the inside. His love for Erik had not dimmed, it was just that the emotions he had for Azazel burned just as brightly now. For a split second Erik scowled and glanced behind him, but by then Azazel’s face was back to a neutral mask as well. 

“Erik!” Charles said, truly glad to see him. “This is unexpected. Come in. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Erik’s stern look melted away into a small smile which even reached his eyes. “Charles,” he said. “It is good to see you.” He studied Charles for a moment. “Something must agree with you. You’re looking very well.”

Charles startled. There was only one thing that had changed recently. Had Azazel’s attentions caused such a noticeable difference? “Fresh air,” he said. “I’ve been getting out a lot more than I used to.” 

Erik reached out a hand and placed it on top of Charles’, warm and secure. “Good.” He paused, and then like a shade being drawn, Charles could see when he remembered his reason for coming here. “I need your help, Charles.”

“What about Ms. Frost? Surely she could--”

“She’s advised I speak with you.” Erik looked up and Charles realized they had been standing on the threshold the whole time. Erik’s hand was still resting over his. “Will you invite us in?”

“Of course. I should have already. Please come in.” Charles glanced to Azazel, but his expression was carefully blank, and Charles didn’t want to risk mentally speaking with him. Erik might not be able to hear them, but he would notice if Charles’ attention lapsed for even a few seconds. But he didn’t need more than a moment to feel the situation status from Azazel. Erik didn’t know yet, and was here legitimately to ask for assistance on a very frightening prospective danger, and everything was balanced on a knife’s edge. He refocused his gaze on Erik, who was faintly smiling at him. “Come in,” Charles said again. “You can explain everything over a cup of tea.”

Charles led the way to the kitchen. Erik was right behind him, and Azazel slowly followed after. It felt very odd to have both of them here, with him, each holding a sliver of his heart. It was also odd to see Azazel’s tail in free-form motion, when he longed to have it tucked around his wrist, where it belonged. 

Azazel hadn’t spoken much about his life with Erik’s group, but Charles had long surmised that it wasn’t quite common knowledge that they’d been…involved. Raven knew, Charles thought. She’d been there at the very beginning. And Emma Frost was aware, of course. There weren’t many secrets kept from telepaths, even when they weren’t actively prying, all sorts of thoughts just leaked out into the ether. Skulls seemed extraordinarily permeable from Charles’ perspective.

What was there still between him and Erik? Erik had left him behind, in the sand and the salt. But they had burned so brightly together, that every cell of his body had been seared, would always remember. Erik was not a love that he could cast off so easily. Though, he certainly had no illusions that there had been anything but catastrophe and brokenness between them since those moments on the beach. Charles had been abandoned, and Azazel had found him. 

He supposed it did not entitle Erik to know anything about anything. In leaving, he had forfeited that right. In fact, he still had the helmet on. A certain symbol that he wanted Charles _out_ and _away_. Still, it had been much easier when Erik was physically distant, not right in front of him. 

In the kitchen, out loud, he asked, “How are you? I can say I’ve seen you looking more well rested.” He busied himself filling the kettle and pulling out the tea leaves while waiting for the answer. 

“As well as can be expected,” Erik replied. “There are grand schemes being set in motion, Charles. Perhaps terrible contrivances. By those who wish harm to mutants. Ms. Frost has exceeded expectations but has been unable to discover the root of the issue. At the moment, she is slightly indisposed and has advised that additional telepathic skills in this matter are necessary. She has recommended I turn to you.”

Charles paused, his eyes bright with surprise. “Has she?”

“Yes.”

Charles risked a glance to Azazel, who gave him the barest of nods. Charles hadn’t doubted Erik’s veracity, but he knew it might not be beyond him to color things incorrectly. Minor misdirection often worked so much better than an outright lie. 

Erik’s gaze followed Charles and he frowned as he saw Azazel at its conclusion. “You don’t need to fear Azazel, Charles. I would trust him with my life, or yours.”

Charles gave Erik a small nod, not correcting his misimpression. A wry smattering of inappropriate amusement leaked off of Azazel, and Charles had to suppress a smile by ducking his head down and away for a moment. “What is the issue, exactly?” Charles asked. He returned to filling the kettle with cold water. 

“The government has developed an installation. Within it are contained some number of black boxes. We believe there to be six. That number is uncertain, however.”

“And inside the boxes?” Charles asked. He put the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. 

“That’s the trouble. We don’t know. Ms. Frost has accessed hundreds of minds. Everyone seems to know the boxes contain _something_ important, something that will be essential in stopping the _mutant threat_.” The distaste that Erik gave those two words was strikingly clear. “Yet, there is only speculation, and no concrete knowledge of what is truly contained within.” 

“It could be a trick,” Charles said. “Nothing in the boxes except dust and grime.”

“Possibly. Ms. Frost’s efforts have revealed that those who are aware of the boxes genuinely believe there is something present.”

“You want me to check. Using Cerebro,” Charles said. 

“Yes. Another attempt using more powerful methods. Before I commit to sending in people to check.” Erik steepled his fingers together. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, except that Ms. Frost felt only you could accomplish this task. And the first person I would commit to the exercise would be Mystique, as she is uniquely suited to infiltration and subterfuge.”

Charles blinked, and tried to squash down the sudden blurry panic at hearing how Raven would be put in danger. She’d gone with Erik, to follow this path, to offer her skills, but it didn’t make it any easier for Charles to bear. He _worried_ about her. Erik knew this, of course he did. It was a very cleverly organized incentive. If Charles helped, then Raven wouldn’t be placed in danger—at least not this time. There was always something else around the bend, threatening. 

If Erik wouldn’t insist on _killing_ people and detesting non-mutants, Charles would feel no compunction whatsoever against assisting him. Yet, still, that stalemate always continued between them. Their philosophical differences, written large, and impacting very real lives out in the world. 

It had not escaped Charles’ distinct notice that somehow Azazel seemed to take such philosophical differences more in stride, even though he definitely pledged his commitment to Erik’s side of things. Charles was a bit fuzzy, actually, on how they made it work between them. He supposed it was just a topic they didn’t really discuss much. And it was a complex issue that Charles would have to pursue at another time, as Erik’s presentation of his concerns needed to take precedence. 

If the information that Erik had laid out was true, though, Charles was just as puzzled and worried about it as he. Unknown black boxes. Shadow installations. The government could be their greatest ally, and yet, it was often their most fearsome foe. 

Cerebro was here in the mansion. It offered relatively little risk to go looking. Perhaps he would find no other answers than what Emma Frost already knew, but then again, he wouldn’t know until he tried. 

“I see. We should get started then.” Charles wheeled himself out of the kitchen and Erik followed, with a grim and determined mien. 

Fifty feet away, Charles realized that Azazel had remained behind to flick the burner off, and lament the lack of tea. _Thank you_ , he thought. _Tea later? You and I?_

 _It behooves me to not have you cast out on the street because your home has burned to a cinder._ Azazel thought as he followed to catch up with Erik’s long strides. _And yes. If there is opportunity, I would be quite happy to take tea with you._

Charles was glad Erik walked behind him, so he could not see the smile on his face. 

~~~ 

Erik followed Charles down the hallways, to the room where Cerebro was stored. It was essentially the same machine as he had known, but some apparent upgrades had been made. The machine looked sleeker in some respects, and yet bulkier in others. It still gave Erik a slow roil of horror when he looked at it. It compromised a combination of awe, for what it allowed Charles to do, and terror, for the memories it conjured of being an unwilling lab rat. 

Charles seemed completely comfortable with Cerebro, however, and Erik noted that he moved efficiently and smoothly under the helmet, flicking on switches that had been placed close by for his operation. His pulse quickened as Charles settled the helmet on his head. He looked both vulnerable and small, and yet, his confidence was absolute. The breadth of his power when hooked into the machine was incredible, and Erik felt an immense appreciation for that. 

He also felt even more drawn to Charles. His mind was as sharp and perceptive as ever, and Erik found him not at all diminished by being in his wheelchair. If anything, Erik found his strength and determination to be incredible, alluring in a way that slowly churned through his gut and burned in his blood. 

He pushed the emotions away. He was here for an important purpose, and the bridges between them had certainly already been set aflame and burned to ashes. 

Still, that smile…earlier when he had arrived. It had gone all the way up into Charles’ eyes, and Erik had thought he might crumple, all his reserve washed away down stream like nothing but flotsam. It had been so long since Charles had smiled _at_ him with such earnestness. Erik glanced to Azazel, who stood stoically against the wall, hands clasped behind him and watching Charles intently as he strapped himself in, and was grateful he at least had one member of his group here, to keep him on track. 

He had caught Charles’ look at Azazel earlier, though, and hoped it would not be an issue. When Azazel had been their enemy, he had been a determined and dangerous foe. Now that Erik controlled the group, and commanded Azazel’s allegiance, there was no danger to Charles. He could not speak the same about anybody else, however. He was sure there was a great animosity still between Hank and Azazel, hard feelings from the incident at Cuba. Erik would not get between that feud, but Charles was different. He did not see eye to eye with Charles on a great many things, but he would not allow him to be hurt. 

Charles’ face had taken on a sublime cast as his attention flew hundreds of miles away, as he delved through an atmosphere of thoughts that Erik could barely comprehend. He hoped that he would discover useful intelligence about the black box problem. Erik had no qualms sending people in to deal with threats, but he did not want to needlessly risk the lives of mutants who were faithful to his vision of the future. 

Eventually Charles gasped and came back to himself, removed the helmet, and flicked off switches and buttons. He rubbed at his forehead and for a moment Erik could see the strain that his reconnaissance had taken. “Charles?” Erik asked.

Charles wheeled himself to the edge of the platform. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t been able to learn much more than what Emma was able to tell you. A fair number of people are aware of the existence of the boxes, including numerous security guards. They all have heard rumors of one sort of another, but no one had anything substantial. The contents of the boxes and their purpose must be known only to a select few and I didn’t come across them.” He frowned. “I could do a more extensive search. Perhaps it would warrant a trip to the location. It would take some time to look for more closely held secrets, but eventually I would find the right people.”

Erik considered this, but the wan and haggard look that had settled across Charles made him pause. Charles hadn’t chosen to be by his side. Could he ask him to engage in such a task? “Not necessary,” Erik said, “Ms. Frost should be able to accomplish that.”

A focused, determined look came onto Charles’ face. “Erik, whatever this is, whether it is a trick of some sort, or truly a threat to mutants, you need my assistance. I want to be involved in this.” His eyes flashed like diamonds, and for a moment Erik was put to mind of Emma’s mutant ability. “I don’t want to hear how Raven was injured or killed when I could have participated.”

Erik stared. His previous gambit had come back to be used against him, and he could only admire the perseverance and strength of spirit there. Not to mention that he craved the possibility of spending more time in Charles’ company, even if they did nothing more than argue. “Then I will gladly accept your help,” he said, and Charles beamed at him. 

Erik tried not to feel satisfied by that joyful brightness aimed his way. 

 

~~~

 

Charles spent a few minutes to don a coat and bring along a hat and gloves. The wind could be very brisk. 

Azazel appeared next to him with a soft plaid blanket that he positioned on Charles’ lap. He smiled softly. “It would not do to have you catch cold,” he said. 

“Thank you” Charles said back, and he caught at Azazel’s wrist with his fingers and tugged him down for the briefest of kisses. 

Azazel’s attention flicked up. 

“He’s downstairs,” Charles said. “I can’t sense him, but I can sense the _absence_ of him when he wears that helmet.”

“I will stay with you the entire time,” Azazel said. “I will not leave your side.”

Charles chuckled. “I doubt there will be any danger at all. I’m just going to get closer and take a little peek into their memories. We’ll be far and away from any action or excitement.” 

“Still.” Azazel looked very serious, and Charles could feel the concern streaming off him. It was all well and good to place himself in danger, but Azazel thought it entirely inappropriate for Charles to suddenly be close enough to get singed. 

Charles gave Azazel’s wrist a quick tightening pulse and then released him. “I’ll need to leave a note for Hank and the others. So they won’t worry.” The knowing, lifted eyebrow that Azazel gave him made Charles start to furiously ponder exactly how he could word the note so that he could be truthful _and_ manage not to send Hank through the stratosphere. “So they won’t worry as much,” he amended, muttering. “Or come out with weapons drawn to haul me back.”

It had occurred to Charles that if Erik and Azazel were gone by the time Hank and the others returned, that perhaps it would be wiser not to mention the visit. Hank barely tolerated Azazel, and he despised Erik. 

Charles going off with them on a semi-dangerous mission would not go over well at all. He sighed and Azazel’s mouth quirked into the smallest of smirks. 

Charles cast a side-long glace at Azazel. He had wondered what Erik and the others in Erik’s band had known—Azazel had never explicitly mentioned that anyone other than Emma and Raven _knew_ , but then again, their dates had been weeks apart, and their more intimate moments had been such a recent development. Charles supposed there was no delicate way to tell the Brotherhood that he was dating the enemy. Just as Hank, Alex, and Sean were wary of Azazel, and Charles often hid exactly how much time he did spend with him, he knew that Azazel would do the same. 

Charles had felt the wave of caution that Azazel had exuded at him when they had arrived, and he knew Erik would be sensitive to the momentary lapses if he’d taken time for any length of mental conversations. Charles hadn’t wanted to make Erik aware of their relationship, and so Charles had refocused on Erik, letting Azazel fall into the background. Now, of course, the proximity and the weight of their previous relationship had made Erik once more a molten point of heat beating like a drum inside his head. Even the damnable helmet couldn’t entirely block out the very rousing presence that he had when he stood so close. 

Charles wondered how he could be so traitorous. Azazel stood just next to him, and yet the old emotions that had carved themselves into his psyche for Erik were forever there, notched and permanent. Charles probed those emotions for a moment, and yes, they were keen, but not fresh. His feelings for Azazel were still swelling, rising, burgeoning. 

Charles put the finishing touches to his note and tried not to grimace at it. He sincerely hoped he’d be back before they were and then he could crumple up the note and throw it out. “I’m ready,” he told Azazel, and that so-clever tail of his snaked around Charles’ wrist, familiar and warm and comforting, and the heat of it chased through the cold, brittle, white-hot emotions he’d been contemplating about Erik, and they teleported downstairs. 

Erik was waiting, arms crossed over his chest, and a secret, enigmatic smile on his face. 

~~~

 

Azazel brought him close enough to the installation that he would be able to pick through thoughts easily, but kept them out beyond the tree-line, where they would be camouflaged. Azazel’s tail stayed firmly wrapped around his wrist, heavy and warm, like a promise. Erik immediately started scanning the area, his eyes darting around, his fingers splayed, and Charles knew that any hint of untoward metal would be dealt with immediately. He was as safe as safe could be, considering. 

“Quickly,” Erik said. “We can escape if we are detected, but I would rather they aren’t aware of our presence at all.”

Charles decided not to respond to that, although he was faintly annoyed. Erik could be imperious when he chose, and Charles certainly had no intentions of alerting anyone to their presence. 

Charles closed his eyes and concentrated. His world burst open into a rush of thought and energy as he sought out all the minds in the compound, touching each one, gathering thoughts, alighting for the briefest of moments as he searched for what he wanted. He concentrated on the concept of the black boxes, and swooped, like a hawk coming down out of the sky onto prey, through dozens of minds, pulling out thoughts and memories as if they were nothing but cotton candy. 

When he’d looked enough, he swam back up through the crest of minds, and came back to himself. 

He swayed for a moment as he readjusted to being in his own head again, and not flying through myriad complexes of thought. Sight came back to him slowly, and when it did, he saw identical expressions of concern on both Erik’s and Azazel’s faces. _Interesting_ , he thought, still lightheaded from his exertions. _Somehow, someway, I’ve found myself with two loves. Isn’t that entirely odd._

“Charles?” Erik asked, reaching out a hand to steady him. 

Charles swallowed, still trying to realign his senses, and realized that Azazel’s wrapped tail had tightened ever so perceptibility, under the cuff of his shirt. “I’ll be fine in a moment. There were a lot of minds, and a lot of memories, to sort through.”

“And?”

Charles steepled his fingers in front of him as he pieced together all the different tidbits of information he had plucked out of the minds he’d found. “Most of the people here are security agents. Mainly temporary. Only a few have been here longer than two weeks. Whomever is in charge, they aren’t here. The middle-level managers aren’t here. There are a few low-level organizers, but they don’t know anything more than the security guards. What they do seem to all agree on, however, is that the boxes are a great weapon against mutants, and that they’ve been stored here too long already and are to be moved sometime tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Erik asked, his attention flicking to the compound. “How coincidental.”

“Apparently the move has been planned for quite some time and has been postponed a few times out of security concerns. But everyone is preparing for the move later on tomorrow.” Charles shook his head. “They all believe what they’ve been told, but something feels off.” Charles lifted his gaze to meet Erik’s straight on. “It’s a trap of some sort.”

“Clever,” Erik said, and his gaze shifted away from the compound and back to Charles. “Perhaps we shouldn’t disappoint them.”

“You will want to come back with the others,” Azazel said, his voice low. “After we return Xavier.”

Erik’s attention flicked to Azazel and then straight ahead again, contemplating the compound. “As you say. Night maneuvers may be called for.”

“What if I don’t want to be returned?” Charles asked, feeling slightly peeved. He could tell that Azazel was quite concerned over his safety, but Charles was in on this mission now. “Plus, you need me. Ms. Frost won’t be able to handle a complex this size. Maybe I can help keep the casualties to a minimum.” He was very serious about that last sentiment. 

Erik returned a steely-eyed glare. “You know where I stand, Charles.”

“You won’t have a very successful reconnaissance without a telepath,” Charles said, swerving around that old issue. It would just be the same redundant conversation as always before. “If it turns sour….” He could feel Azazel’s alarm rising. _You don’t get to decide what I do_ , he told Azazel. _I’ve never been able to dissuade you from taking on a single dangerous mission._

_You have not trained with us as a team member, so you are a liability._ Azazel answered smoothly, then added with a very definite stubborn tone, _And yes, I reserve the privilege to be anxious for your safety._

Charles narrowed his eyes.

Erik narrowed his as well, and Charles had to admit that he did a much more effective job of it. “I will confer with Ms. Frost,” he finally said. 

Charles could have reached out and asked her within a few moments what her opinion on the matter would be, but Erik leaned down and brushed against Charles’ ear with his lips. “Find something to wear that’s black,” he whispered.

Azazel actually growled. 

~~~  
“Ms. Frost will not be participating. She has a head cold.”

Mystique actually giggled. She swallowed the rest of her mirth. “Then how are we going to get in there? Just through subterfuge?” she asked, with a waggled of fingers at herself as she shifted into a carbon-copy of a guard. 

“Charles will be assisting us,” Erik said. 

Mystique sucked in her breath, and the others made various nervous movements, adjusting to the information. Frost sneezed, daubed at her nose with a white handkerchief with an elegant gesture, and sipped at a cup of tea, but didn’t speak. 

“This is not a direct assault on the compound,” Erik went on to explain. “I want to know what is in those boxes, if anything at all. Our information is that either they contain some secret weapon against mutants, or else the whole thing is a trap.”

“Probably a trap,” Angel said. 

“We could remain ignorant,” Erik said. “And attempt nothing.”

Angel frowned. “But if it wasn’t a trap—“

“Precisely,” Erik said. “Our options are limited. Which is why we will concentrate on stealth instead of overt destruction. For now.”

“Charles wouldn’t agree to just blowing it up,” Mystique said. 

Erik shrugged. “The schedule is for the boxes to be moved tomorrow. Ms. Frost, will you be capable of performing your duties by then?”

She shook her head. “No, you know I won’t.”

“Then, the only telepath with services to render would be your brother,” Erik said, and he looked hard at Mystique. 

“We can do this without him. Without any telepath,” Azazel said quietly, from across the room. 

Erik caught Mystique’s flash of gratefulness. He’d noticed Mystique and Azazel being friendly. He wasn’t surprised that he would attempt to aid her. “How?” he asked. 

“I would just teleport in, and bring out a box. For examination.” Azazel’s face was implacable. “We would have no need of a telepath.”

“What if the box explodes when you move it?” Angel asked. “What if it is a trap?”

Erik considered the options. “No. It is better to have all our skills available to us. Why do the enemies’ work for them? Xavier comes with us.” He held up a hand before Mystique could protest again, and he noticed that Azazel’s eyes went hard as flint. Erik would have to keep a watchful eye on their friendship, in case their closeness became an issue. “We go in two hours before dawn.”

After that, it all went quickly. 

Erik gathered his forces outside the compound. Azazel was sent to fetch Charles, who arrived wearing a sleek black outfit, with the previously shining metal of his chair soaped with some dark compound. He looked solemn, his eyes hooded. Azazel wore a similarly stormy expression. 

"Trouble?" Erik asked, keeping his voice low. 

Azazel gave a curt shake of his head, though his lips pressed into a thin line. 

"Hank sends his greetings," Charles murmured, understated.

"Ah," Erik said, and he could well imagine that MCcoy was most displeased with this turn of events. Not that he disagreed entirely on this issue. Part of him did not want to bring Charles into danger, even if it was slim. Another part of him rejoiced at having Charles at his side. Perhaps now he could again see how they worked together seamlessly. Erik glanced to his assembled group. "You know your assignments. Let's go."

They moved toward the compound in nearly complete silence. Mystique briefly intercepted Charles, even as Erik watched, and they grasped hands for the briefest of moments. 

Erik raised a hand to forestall Azazel a moment and let the others advance. "A word," he said quietly. 

Azazel paused. 

"I may become occupied if there are unforeseen developments. At the first sign of combat, if it is at all possible, please remove Xavier from danger."

A muscle twitched in Azazel's cheek. "I will attend to it."

"Good." Erik swept away, after his team. He needed to stay focused on the mission from this point on. 

The group was poised on the cusp of the compound. Charles had two fingers to his temple, his eyes closed. "I've put the guards to sleep," he said. "We should receive no resistance."

"Good," Erik said. "Then we proceed." They entered the compound, walking past guards dozing on the ground. "Surveillance?" he asked. He flicked his hand, pulsing out a magnetic wave. Any film or tape would be instantly frizzled into a senseless snowstorm image.

"On location. Also asleep," Charles responded as they breached the first gate. 

They approached the initial gate. The metal brackets were easily manipulated, and they fell away. Mystique pushed the door open, and it swung smoothly on well oiled hinges. 

"This is too easy," Mystique whispered, coming alongside Erik. She glanced around furtively, her quick gaze missing nothing. "This has to be some sort of set-up."

"With real guards?" Erik asked. "The government may be our enemy, but they do not often sacrifice their own."

"Maybe they're playing by new rules," she replied, and moved away from him. 

"Charles?" Erik asked. 

The second gate required only an electromagnetic pulse and the locking mechanism was scrambled and useless. Mystique pushed that door open as well. 

"This is where the boxes are," she said. "Behind this door. In a vault."

Erik frowned. He could feel the door, but not the locking mechanism. "Wooden," he said. "Azazel?"

In a puff of smoke, Azazel was gone. There was a creaking noise, and the door slowly opened. It was a foot thick, and had an ingenious wooden pin mechanism that had held it shut. "They suspected I would come here," Erik said darkly.

"There are no guards on the inside," Charles said.

Erik entered the space first. It was a vault, but it was an enormous one. The entire space was poured concrete, and large. There was a wide swath of empty space before concrete steps lead up to a second platform level, where the black boxes were stored. Erik scanned the room with his eyes and his power, but could find nothing. Still, something itched at him. 

"Charles, wait here. We will attend to the boxes."

"I am not a liability," he said, a dangerous undercurrent in his voice, "nor do you need to go to extreme lengths to keep me out of danger." He paused, and then his expression calmed. "Exercise caution," he said. "The boxes are most likely a trap."

Erik nodded and motioned for the others to follow him. They surrounded the first box that they reached. "Reports?" he asked. 

Mystique shrugged. "I can't see anything dangerous about it. But it could be rigged up through the floor. Or from the inside." Riptide, Angel, and Azazel gazed at the box, but offered no further suggestions. 

Only he had the sort of ability that could delve out information about a closed box, the others had many talents, but not in this area. Erik narrowed his eyes and reached out with his power. There was metal here, but it was in the structure of the box. For all he could tell, the box could hold nothing, or it could hold untold non-metallic objects. "We'll have to open it," he said. The locks on it were, at least, metal. That he could manipulate, and he did so. "It is no longer locked."

Riptide motioned for them to stand back and he swirled his hands, sending a small whirlwind at the edge of the box. The top was pushed aside, like the great stone of a crypt, and it crashed to the ground. 

Erik peered into the box. A smaller box, made of plain brown cardboard, sat inside it. He reached in and brought it out. Cautiously, he lifted the lid. Nestled inside on shredded paper was a glass phial with a clear liquid inside. 

"Biological weapon?" Mystique whispered. "We've got it, anyway. Let's get the others, and go. We can analyze it later." 

Erik frowned at the small glass phial and held it up to look at it. There were minute qualities of metals in the liquid. Much like...water. 

Suddenly Mystique drooped. "I feel funny," she said, her words slurring. 

"Me, too," said Angel. Beside her, Azazel sagged, his eyelids fluttering. 

"Riptide," Erik said. He was also starting to feel faint. "They've set a trap," he said, "with some type of gas."

Riptide, nearly limp against the side of the box, moved his hands, and instantly began to stir the air. 

From somewhere close came the warning rumble of explosives going off. Lightheaded, Erik turned too slowly, and saw that the ceiling had cracked. The government was poisoning them, and planned to bury them. Erik stretched out a hand, but the concrete had very little metal in it. Then, to his horror, he realized that the rumble had increased exponentially into cracking and crashing, and more explosions were going off, like firecrackers at a parade. The gas was still in his system, making him dissociated and slow, and Erik tried to push through the fatigue. He would not allow himself to become vulnerable in this way. 

There was a gale in the room now, swirling the air around and around into a funnel, drawing away the gas, but making it hard to hear. Erik's words were swallowed by the cyclone in the center of the space. 

There was another explosion and Erik turned just as there was another explosion. He'd left Charles directly under it. "Charles!" he shouted, throwing his power at the chunks of debris that were raining down. The ceiling was collapsing. There wasn't time. There wasn't anything to control. No metal. No metal at all. Erik reached out to yank at Charles' wheelchair, and disoriented by the gas, all he did was topple Charles onto the ground. "Azazel!" Erik cried out, commanding. He actually saw Azazel turn his head, and the horrified expression develop on his face as he realized the situation. 

There was a flash of red next to him, and then a plume of red almost instantaneously across the room.

Then there was nothing but the crumble of concrete and debris and a dust cloud that was sucked into the whirlwind at the center of the room. 

~~~ 

Charles watched as the others cautiously approached the box, opened it, and extracted something small. Being left all the way across the room had been irksome at the very least, and somewhat demoralizing. But he'd acquiesced only because the room itself was like a telepathic-claustrophobic bunker, so obviously designed by a government concerned about telepathic interference, and he preferred to be closer to the doorway, where he could keep mental tabs on all the sleeping soldiers. And only because he had brushed against Azazel's mind, and sensed his deep worry and concern. Azazel didn't trust Erik to keep him safe, and Charles didn't want Azazel to be preoccupied with him when his first concern needed to be those boxes. He would have to deal with this issue at a later time, but arguing during a mission was not the proper one. 

So, of course, it was this very placement that was dangerous when the explosions destroyed the foundation and the walls and ceiling collapsed on him. Debris rained down on his head, and littered the ground, keeping him from effecting his own escape. 

Charles heard Erik call his name, and then his wheelchair bucked under him and he lost his purchase and actually fell out onto the floor as it was yanked away from him. Everything was caving in and he knew that at any moment he would be crushed-- 

And then he saw the cloud of red, simultaneously both across the room and then all around him, and in his panic he must have not seen correctly, because it looked as if Azazel's tail had been left behind. How fast could Azazel actually teleport? A small part of his mind tucked away the question for later, as astounded as he was by yet another interesting facet of Azazel's amazing ability. 

Azazel's hands were reaching out for him, and even as he felt the barest touch, there was the most agonizing of wrenchings. His insides burnt in bright-hot pain, as if he were being seared with glowing hot pokers, and his insides stirred like a soup. Every nerve ending was ignited at the same moment, and his skin felt molten, possibly melting away to reveal his bones, which felt like they were crumbling to ash. 

Charles would have screamed, but there was no air in his lungs to make a sound, and he was suffocating in the absence of an atmosphere. Everything was dark, and then his sight burst into painful brightness. 

He saw Azazel in front of him, holding him, his eyes searching, confirming something, and Charles' realized he had stopped controlling his telepathy-- _go faster, was I fast enough, he looks fine, is he fine, alive, not dead, pain in my chest..._ , he heard through his head, in Azazel's inner voice, the words all overlaid on top of each other, thought together. Then Azazel opened his mouth as if to speak, and he coughed up dark red blood all over Charles. 

Charles realized that Azazel had been holding him up when Azazel collapsed, and so did Charles. 

His eyesight went black from the outside edges in, and he had the briefest of glimpses of blueness, and knew that Azazel had brought them to the one person who could help: Hank. 

~~~ 

It took Erik four hours to get himself to the mansion. 

The mission had turned out to be a trap, although Riptide had succeeded in moving the poisonous chemical away, and they had all managed to escape. Azazel had not returned, and being without their teleporter meant procuring other means of transportation, which Erik did in the form of a plane, and several vehicles as necessary. He had wanted nothing more than to rush himself to the mansion, hoping that was where Azazel had gone, even though phone calls went unanswered. He had, however, not abandoned his team. 

Mystique had urged him on, her own shock and worry on par with his own. 

So when he finally reached the mansion, and Alex was at the door to meet him, Erik was exhausted and strung tight with panic. "Where are they?" he demanded. 

Mystique was half a step behind him. "Where's Charles?" she demanded. 

Alex eyed them both coldly. "Hank is in surgery."

Erik nearly stumbled. "Charles?" he asked. He could not get the images out of his mind--of the deadly concrete falling, of Azazel's cloud of brimstone and sulfur, of not being able to know what had ultimately happened. 

"No. Azazel," Alex said. "Charles is...." He shook his head, obviously changing his mind about what he would say. "Charles is unconscious."

"What happened?" Erik demanded. 

"You'd better come inside," Alex said. He motioned for everyone to come in. "There are rooms upstairs, and showers. There's food in the kitchen. It's going to be a long wait."

"Tell me now," Erik said. Mystique stood her ground as well. 

Alex glanced between them. "They were both unconscious when they got here. Hank really didn't have time to tell me what he thought. He took Azazel into surgery. Sean is helping him."

Mystique pushed forward. "Tell me where Charles is." She leveled her gaze at Alex, glaring at him. 

"Fine." Alex returned her glare with an equal amount of hatred and fervor. 

Erik followed Alex upstairs to a bedroom--Charles' room, and Charles was there. 

He was laid out on the bed, looking impossibly pale and ashen-grey. It looked like someone had come by and sucked all the color out of him. With his eyes closed, there wasn't a spark of life to be found, and Erik watched carefully for that ever-so-slow rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing, but only barely, as if air was too heavy to push in and out of his chest, and Erik winced to see it. Charles looked like he might give up on breathing altogether at any moment, given the terrible difficulty it presented. 

Mystique rushed to his side, and took his hand in hers. "Charles, can you hear me?" she asked, whispering to him over and over again.

Otherwise, he looked whole. There were faint scratches along one cheek, and dried flakes of blood at the hairline of his forehead. There were injuries, and Erik remembered the fall of concrete. He was surprised that Charles wasn't more hurt. He had been directly under the barrage of debris when Azazel had gone in to retrieve him. 

Erik tore his gaze away from Charles in the bed. "You said McCoy was in surgery? On Azazel?" Erik wasn't surprised. In fact, if anything, he was shocked that Azazel had even attempted the rescue. It hadn't just been a close call, as far as he could tell, but practically a suicidal action. Azazel had actually teleported into that shower of debris. What did that do to a teleporter? Something damaging enough that McCoy needed to perform surgery. Erik had no official commendations for his group. This wasn't an organized military, but a renegade force of rebels. But he had no doubt that Azazel had performed the equivalent of top honors for bravery, and been injured for it. 

"Yes," Alex answered. 

"When do you expect McCoy to be done?" Erik wanted to grab Alex and shake him until information rattled out, but Erik also knew that Alex wasn't a medic and probably didn't have any useful to share. 

"I don't know." Alex pressed his lips into a grim line. "There was a lot of blood," he finally offered, and he turned his head to look away before speaking again. "I don't think it looked good," he said softly. 

"I see." Erik turned away. Raven had crawled up onto the bed and curled into the space beside Charles. Other than his hand, she wasn't touching him. She kept up a steady stream of whispering to him, and her gaze flicked back to meet Erik's before she turned it again to her brother. 

Erik rubbed tiredly at his face. He hoped Azazel survived. He had known that someday there would be deaths, but he hoped that it wouldn't happen quite yet. He'd sent the man into certain jeopardy, and likely his own death, and he'd gone at Erik's command. Erik shuddered at that. But, he would have done it again, if it meant Charles lived. 

Erik moved slowly to the bedside, scanning the room as he went, absently cataloguing the bits and bobs of Charles' life, the small things that seemed so unimportant when life hung in the balance. He sat down carefully on the other side of the bed and reached out for Charles' other free hand. He cradled it in his own, noting how limp it was, how cold. Erik bent his head forward, to wait to see what he had wrought. 

~~~ 

Hank rubbed at his eyes and looked over the x-ray again. It didn't look good. 

"So, you can do surgery, right?" Sean asked. He was squinting at the x-ray, then closed one eye. Then he switched, and opened that one and closed the other. He shook his head at the x-ray. "You can help him?"

"He's got chunks of concrete in his lungs," Hank said. "Even if I could perform that kind of surgery, it'd take an entire team of doctors to do it right. If I go in there, I'd just be blundering about and cause more damage."

"But he's got rocks in his lungs!" Sean protested. He waved a hand at Azazel, who was laying on a hospital bed, well sedated, given the amount of pain he would be in from the lodged objects. His breathing was labored, and when he coughed, he brought up bright flecks of blood. "Can't you do something for him?"

"I'm keeping him comfortable," Hank said. "Until we figure out what to do."

"We could bring him to a hospital," Sean ventured.

Hank gave Sean a hard look. 

"We could kidnap a team of doctors," Sean said, quickly amending his previous statement. 

Hank sighed. 

Alex knocked on the door and then let himself in. He stared at Azazel and then shifted his attention to Hank. "No surgery?" he asked. 

Hank handed him the x-ray, and waited while Alex tried to make sense of it as he held it up to the light. 

"He has foreign debris in several locations in his chest, particularly in his lungs," Hank said, and pointed to the areas on the x-ray where they were visible. 

"Rocks," Sean added. 

"Yes," Hank agreed. "Rocks. And it would be too complicated and dangerous a surgery for me to perform solo. Even if I were a surgeon. Which I'm not."

"Erik and Raven are here. With the others." Alex flushed angrily and his voice spiked. 

Hank put a hand on Alex's shoulder. When Azazel had teleported in, with Charles clutched in his arms, Hank had known that something had gone terribly wrong, and he had cursed the Brotherhood and Erik for involving Charles in their clandestine actions. He'd argued against it last night, and Charles had been obstinate and stubborn.

Hank's first reaction was anger, but there'd been no time for it given the emergency. Charles needed immediate attention and Azazel had been barely conscious, coughing and explaining nothing well in garbled, broken, slurring words. Hank had understood nothing, but had taken action as best he could to help them both. 

"No one wants them here," Hank said. "Not after what they did. But Raven is Charles' sister. And Erik was...."

Alex knocked Hank's hand off his shoulder. "Erik was an ass," he said. He jutted his chin in Azazel's direction. "Even he's better for Charles than Erik." 

"But what happened?" Sean asked. "To Charles? To him?"

Hank looked to Alex and Alex shook his head. "They didn't tell me, and I didn't ask."

"I teleported...him too...quickly."

Hank turned and stared. Azazel's eyes were open. He'd spoken softly and with difficulty, pausing between words. "Are you in pain?" Hank asked, and he moved over to Azazel's side. "You should be sedated, with what I gave you. Giving you any more might be dangerous."

Azazel gave a minute shake of his head. "I...heal...fast," he said. He turned his head and engaged in a strong coughing fit, bringing up dark gobs of blood, and then suddenly, he spit out a small piece of concrete. 

Hank stared. "You can heal that?" he asked, incredulous. 

"Given enough time," Azazel said, his voice had gained some strength. "This is not the first time I have needed to teleport with expediency."

"What happened?" Alex demanded. "What happened to Charles?"

Azazel's attention flicked over them. "Charles?" he asked, his voice rasping and barely there, an edge of desperation to it. "How is he? Where is he?"

"He's in his room, resting. He's not awake, and looked to be in severe shock, but he's stable now. Can you tell us what happened to him?" Hank asked.

Sean leaned in. "Can you move? I'll bring you to him."

"In a few minutes, yes. I will be able to move. But--" He coughed again, bringing up more blood, but nothing else. "Adrenaline," he whispered. "Stimulants. I require stimulants. These drugs you gave me--"

Hank stared at Azazel for a moment, turning over the words, and the concepts. "Oh, hell. Not sedatives at all! I should have realized!" He twisted around and pushed things aside to reach for a syringe, and then to find the appropriate bottle. 

"What? What are you doing?" Alex asked, his attention swiveling back and forth. 

"He's too sedated," Hank said. "I've got to give him--" Hank finished filling the syringe and turned around again. "This won't be pleasant," he said, as he fiddled with the IV connector and then slid in the needle. He pushed, and the fluid went into Azazel's bloodstream. 

"Hank!" Alex said. "What did you just do?"

Hank backed away from Azazel, though he watched him intently. "He can't heal the damage if the debris stays inside."

"So?"

"He has to teleport."

Azazel thrashed on the table and made a terrible, intense, wrenching noise. He curled up on his side, coughing more blood onto the sheets, harshly red against the stark white, and then covered his head with both hands. A strangled, hoarse shout ripped out of him, and suddenly he was gone. The awful stench of sulfur and a filmy red haze hung in the air. 

Rocks hung suspended in the air for less than the blink of an eye, and then fell. One missed the table, hit an edge, and skittered off. 

"Wow," Sean said. "Intense."

Hank slowly moved forward and picked up one of the chunks of debris, thankful he was still wearing protective medical gloves. It was darkened, wet and slimy, from having been just inside Azazel's body. "I can't believe he did that. Amazing," he said, voice low. "The implications of this...."

"Fuck implications," Alex snarled. "Where the hell did he _go_?"

Hank looked up at Alex and registered his rage and fear. But Hank knew exactly where Azazel had gone, and the pieces were falling into place for him. Even without the story. Without either Charles or Azazel telling him, Hank knew part of what had transpired, and understood the ramifications. For the first time since he'd been dismayed to find Azazel courting Charles and the unusual romance developing, Hank wasn't concerned. Azazel would risk his well being, and his own life, for Charles. And Hank was finally grasping that it was true. 

"To see Charles," Hank said simply, and left it at that. 

~~~ 

Azazel teleported to Charles's room. 

It had been an agonizing effort--the rocks inside his chest had seared him, clinging to him, and leaving them behind had required concentration on his part that he hadn't practiced in too long. His head was muzzy, from the drag of the sedatives and the sting of the sudden adrenaline that McCoy had given him. There were gaping, yawning holes inside him, hurting and terrible, when he rematerialized, and he knew it would be long minutes before his body would begin to heal that damage. 

So, when he saw that Magneto and Mystique were on the bed with Charles, Azazel attempted to teleport away again--and failed. Instead, he slumped against the wall and eyed them warily. 

"Azazel!" Mystique cried and ran to him. "Where are you hurt? What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened," Magneto said as he left the bed, and Azazel could barely see Charles from his angle. But what he could see brought him intense worry. Charles was too still. 

"Magneto...." Azazel tried to speak, but he began coughing again, and more blood filled his mouth. 

Magneto bent down, kneeling with one leg up. He put a hand on Azazel's arm. "Easy," he said. "I know what you did." He frowned. "I thought Hank was operating on you, to remove the debris."

"No...." Azazel said. 

"What happened?" Mystique demanded, even as she touched the planes of Azazel's face. 

"He saved Charles by teleporting into the debris, nearly killing himself," Magneto said, and there was a sharp pitch to his words that struck fear through Azazel. "Am I right?"

Azazel settled on nodding his head. 

"Mystique," Erik said, though he did not look away from Azazel as he spoke, "would you be so kind as to retrieve a glass of water? And to find the good doctor. Azazel will need more medical attention."

Mystique frowned but stood. "Of course," she said, and with a glance to Charles, she left. 

"Why is Charles so ill?" Magneto asked, his voice low. "Yet he appears largely unhurt by the debris."

Azazel closed his eyes and summoned his strength. "I had to teleport too quickly to assure his safety," he said. "It is a shock to the system. But he would have been crushed, if I had not. There was no choice."

Magneto nodded. "Your actions were heroic. I would have...." He looked away for a moment before turning back to stare at Azazel. "Charles cannot be lost."

Azazel gave a faint nod. 

"But I am not completely blind. Nor stupid." Magneto leaned in closer, and the hand on Azazel's shoulder gripped harder. "I asked myself if I could have done what you did. To teleport into such absolute danger. And I know my answer."

Azazel continued to stare at Magneto. He truly had no idea what to say, lest he give something away. 

"For Charles I would," Magneto said, "but not for another." He stared even harder at Azazel. "And I asked myself, why you would do such a thing. At my command? Because you were a true hero? Brave and noble? Perhaps." Magneto spit the words at him. "And then I saw this." He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and Azazel froze when he saw what it was. A ballet ticket. With a tattletale date and time printed on it. From his and Charles' trip, which seemed an eternity ago, but which was not. Its presence in Charles' room had no explanation, other than the one that was the truth. Only a teleporter could have brought it back from Moscow so soon.

Azazel tried to gauge his energy, and wondered if he had enough to teleport one more time, for he was sure that Magneto was about to kill him. He had always thought that when the final showdown with Magneto came, that he would have stood an even chance or even held a slight edge. But that had been if he were not grievously injured, and now the situation was upon him, and he found himself sorely unprepared. 

"You would do such a thing for the same reason I would do such a thing. Tell me I am wrong."

"You know you are not," Azazel said, and tensed. 

Magneto pushed Azazel violently, slamming him against the wall, and Azazel felt every wound in his chest sear with the trauma. Magneto turned and strode away, to stand at Charles' bedside and stare down. Azazel could barely see that Charles still breathed.

"How long?" Magneto grated out the words. 

"For a while now," Azazel said, when he had his breath back. "Long enough that it is not new, nor recent." 

"And Charles?" Magneto began to reach out a hand to Charles but then pulled back. 

"I would not presume to speak for him," Azazel said. 

"I can't very well ask him now, so you must answer." Magneto turned, glaring, his face dark with emotion.  
"He has spoken of love," Azazel said. "Though I know there is still a space reserved for you in his heart."

Magneto's shoulders sagged and he took a step to lean against a chair. "But nothing has truly changed. Love is not enough when so much divides us."

Azazel did not speak. He could not offer words of solace, for he did not want to encourage Magneto. If Magneto found the chasm too great to cross, then it was not Azazel's place to carry him over. Not least of all because Azazel's heart was too selfish to want to relinquish Charles to him. Azazel tried his legs and found he had the energy to move. He got to his feet and limped across the room to Charles on the bed. Now that he could see him clearly, he was very disturbed. He knew he had teleported hurriedly, but even this seemed far more than he had realized. Charles looked barely alive. A chill settled inside him, and Azazel wondered if he had gone too far. He had never killed anyone before just by the act of teleporting, but it seemed theoretically possible. 

"If he lives," Azazel said, even as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, and snaked his tail around one of Charles' wrists, where it felt good and natural, and perfectly right, "if he does not die here, then you would have to speak to him yourself. It is his decision to make, and only his. Though I love him, and have told him this truth."

Magneto's eyes seemed to burn like coals and he stood there for a very long time, looming over the edge of the bed. Finally, he bent his head down, and then straightened again, before sliding onto the bed on the other side of Charles. After a moment, his breathing softened, and became even. 

Immediate danger of being drained of his life gone, Azazel found that the shot of adrenaline was long worn off and that the sedatives were once again overwhelming him. He rubbed one hand lightly down Charles' arm, too exhausted to continue to fret and worry while awake, and let himself fall into sleep. 

~~~ 

When Charles awoke, he felt as if he'd been asleep for a thousand years. Every part of him ached, and every part of him felt raw. He turned his head and saw Azazel sleeping next to him, and also looking very worn out. But there was the familiar feel of Azazel's tail wrapped snugly about his wrist and Charles was more than glad to have it there.

"Hey, Charles!" It was Raven, sitting in a chair next to the bed. She dropped the book in her hands to the floor, and kneeled next to the bed, putting her face near his. "You're awake," she whispered again. "I was starting to get worried."

"Just a scratch or two," Charles mumbled. "I'll be right as rain soon." He yawned and shifted. "What happened? How long have I been out?"

"Most of a day." She lifted a shoulder. "It was all a trap. And we fell into it."

"Is everyone else--" Charles paused and then went on "--alive?"

"We're all fine. Just you and Azazel got hurt. Although the rest of us were a bit--" here an eyebrow quirked up "--inconvenienced when our teleporter was gone, and didn't come back for us. We had to hijack a few things to finally get up here."

"Is he okay?" Charles asked, and threw a worried glance to his lover. "I don't remember exactly what happened...."

Raven's expression became very serious. "He teleported in to rescue you, and he did it into the falling debris, and got chunks of stuff all inside him." 

Charles gasped in horror. 

"He got you away, but he had to do it so fast that you--"

"I collapsed," Charles filled in, remembering his previous experience in France. "It's an awful sensation." Charles touched his fingertips to the coil of tail, and then brushed them lightly over Azazel's cheek. Azazel didn't even shift in his sleep, and Charles felt the horror settle more deeply over him. He couldn't even imagine how devastating it had been, or the courage it would have taken. But they were both alive, and for that Charles was grateful. 

"I bet," Raven said. "But Hank helped him, or he healed himself. I'm not sure. I found him asleep next to you before I could ask him, and you woke up first." She hesitated and then plucked a letter off the nearest dresser and put it on the bed near Charles. "It's from Erik." 

"Erik?" Charles asked. He picked up the envelope. It was sealed. He shook his head. "I'm a little confused about everything."

"Erik knows," Raven said, and bit her lip while staring nervously at Charles. 

"Knows...." Charles' mind suddenly caught up to what she meant and he took a deep breath. "It was bound to happen. Eventually." He held up the envelope. "And this is his letter to me."

"I don't know what he wrote," she said. "Or what he discussed with Azazel. He sent me out of the room. I was just glad nobody was dead when I came back."

Charles nodded. He looked at the envelope he held in his hands. "No time like the present, I suppose," he said. He ran a finger under the edge of the fold, and tore it open at the top. He slid the piece of paper out  
and quietly read it. 

"What does it say?" Raven asked, trying to look around the edges.

Charles folded the sheet back up and returned it to the envelope. "The same as he always has said," Charles replied. "He loves me, but he still believes in his responsibilities to the mutant cause."

"That's it?" Raven asked. "Nothing about...Azazel?"

Charles turned his head to look at Azazel and discovered that he was now awake. Azazel shifted and pushed up, to prop himself against the headboard. He nodded at Raven, acknowledging her presence. 

"The decision is yours," Azazel said softly. "As it has always been. But you have known this."

Charles nodded, and a sweep of sadness went through him.

Azazel uncurled his tail from around Charles' wrist and recoiled it around his waist, and then leaned in to wrap his arms around Charles. He brushed his ear with his lips, and whispered. "He sacrifices you, for his vision of a future, for all mutants," he said. "It does not mean he loves you any less. But only that he will allow himself to suffer, to obtain that which he feels he must work toward." Azazel lightly kissed Charles on the neck, breathing against his skin, before speaking again. "But he is not the only one who loves you. You have my heart. And I am far more selfish. I would never give you up."

Charles leaned into the soft breathing against his neck. There was no way to compare the two loves, for each was brilliant and impossible in its own way. But Erik had chosen his own path, and it was an old wound now. Azazel was constant, and wonderful, and Charles would never trade his love away. Not for an instant. "And you have mine," he replied, because it was true. "Raven? Would you mind telling Hank we're awake. And...get us some water?"

Raven rolled her eyes. "And don't hurry in doing any of that?" she asked. "You and Erik, you're both exactly the same. Absolutely no difference." She smirked as she left. 

Azazel smiled at Charles, and Charles smiled back. "I think this is the biggest difference of all," Charles said as he reached out to take hold of Azazel's forearms, and to pull himself close. "Because you're here."

"Always," Azazel said.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for months and months, and I know that many of you had hoped for a bigger confrontation, but this always felt right to me. I had to work out the particulars only, not the arc of the main story, nor Erik's great sacrifice. And it was those particulars that kept me bogged down. So I apologize for this story taking so long to be finished. It didn't quite follow the same tone of the previous stories in this series and the darker timbre made it harder to complete. 
> 
> I really appreciate everyone who has commented. Your enthusiasm for this series kept me coming back to work on the fic. It's been more well liked than I could have ever imagined, especially given how it should be such an odd pairing, and certainly not an obvious one. It isn't truly crack!fic/pairing, and that's what is so special about it. 
> 
> There's one more story I want to tell in this series, and it'll definitely get us back to the romance. Two more date nights, and they'll be very sweet indeed. I don't know how long it'll take to get to it, but I won't give up on it. I just take a little longer to finish these things. Thank you again for all the comments, and all the love you have for this rare pairing.


End file.
